The Nine Deaths of Hermione Granger
by Willow-Bee the Cat
Summary: Magical interaction is unpredictable at best. Curses change and mutate over time. Or, the nine deaths of Hermione Granger.
1. Prologue: December 21st 2010

Disclaimer: I neither own, nor make a profit from Harry Potter, St. Trinian's, or DC Comics.

Rating: T

Pairings: None

Spoilers: Everything save the Epilogue for Harry Potter, particularly the "Black Family Tree" Rowlings released. More the old Ron Searle Comics than movies, but everything for St. Trinian's. Nothing major for DC Comics, although I would recomend being familiar with the JSA.

Summary: Magical interaction is unpredictable at best. Curses change and mutate over time. Or, the nine deaths of Hermione Granger.

Authors Notes: Everything will be explained, eventually. This was originally supposed to be a oneshot, however it evolved as I wrote it. The story is completely written and now consists of a prologue, epilogue, two interludes, and nine chapters, each roughly two hundred to two thousand words long-although some may be longer.

* * *

Prologue

* * *

Hermione honestly had no idea how to feel about Warrior's. It was full of superhero memorabilia, particularly those related to the Green Lanterns. Given her history, she was leery of capes and supervillains at the best of times. At the worst… there was a reason she'd left the Obliviators. Although at least it was a cape themed bar. She would have been sorely tempted to curse everybody in sight had it been supervillain themed, assuming she had even been able to talk herself into entering.

Inside were a number of obviously metahuman and nonhuman patrons. Some, she faintly recognized from various non-magical tabloids and newspapers, although Hermione was unfamiliar enough with the various capes that she could not actually put names to faces. There were no supervillains within, she was sure. Otherwise there would probably have been a brawl. She glanced about finding the person she was looking for rather easily. He was seated with a faintly familiar blond man in an out of the way booth. Was the blond a cape or some sort? She supposed it would make sense. Hermione waved off the woman who greeted her.

"No thanks, I see the person I'm here to meet," said Hermione.

She slipped between the tables until she reached the appropriate booth. Hermione bit her lip nervously. "Good afternoon."

"Miss… you know, I never did get your name," said the older of the two men.

His dark hair peppered with gray and wrinkled face were much the same as they had been the last time they'd met. It had been over a decade and he looked the same now as he did then. That wasn't normal, but Hermione supposed it didn't matter. Nobody in this family really qualified as normal. She was a little surprised that he remembered her, given that she'd said perhaps two sentences to him.

"Hermione Granger," she said. Hermione took a deep breath. "I should have told you this the first time we met, however my courage failed me. I believe you've been searching for Jake Grant. I know where he is and what name he's using now."


	2. May 1st 1993

Hermione tried to be careful. She tried to make sure she only looked in the tiny mirror held in Penny Clearwater's hand, yet she was not entirely successful. It was like being told not to think about elephants, the moment elephants were mentioned, they came to mind.

"Are you sure the mirror will work?" asked Penny.

"Honestly, it's just a theory. But it's the only thing that makes sense," said Hermione. The tight ball of fear in her stomach released slightly as she admitted that.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the shadows cast by the torches moving oddly. They were so deep in the castle that although there was a window at the end of the hall, it was simply too dark to see without the torches. Something skittered across the floor. Startled, Hermione flinched back. Just out of earshot, something whispered. Hermione strained to listen, however it was beyond her. Hermione resolutely shrugged it off, determinedly not thinking about the troll incident a year and half prior or what had happened in the third floor corridor later on during her First Year.

At the sound of footsteps, Hermione looked up. Ginny had just turned into the corridor. For a moment, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, and then she saw something follow Ginny. She had but a moment to realize just how foolish she had been by not following her own advice before the world went black.

* * *

When Hermione next opened her eyes, she was not entirely sure what had happened. She lay upon the cold stone floor, trying to remember where she was and how she had gotten there when she heard what sounded like soft footsteps and something heavy being dragged along the ground.

'_Beware the snake,'_ whispered a barely audible voice.

For a moment she thought her mind had been playing tricks on her until she recalled just what had happened. What if the basilisk came back? Before she had a chance to think it over properly, Hermione rolled into a kneeling position and grabbed the mirror Penny had dropped. Hermione had just enough time to confirm that Penny had indeed been petrified before she heard the footsteps and heavy object heading back toward her. No. The heavy object being dragged was actually the snake slithering along the floor.

There was a flash of yellow eyes in the mirror.

This time… this time she did not loose consciousness. Hermione tried to close her eyes, only to find that they would not respond to her orders. With mounting horror, Hermione realized that she could not move. She could not blink, could not breathe.

It would be some time before Hermione was capable of rational thought, however she had plenty of time. It would be a month before Madam Pomfrey was able to administer the mandrake potion and treat the victims of the basilisk. Hermione could only pray that she was the only one who was aware. To be literally petrified, incapable of the slightest movement was the worst sort of torture the thirteen year old could imagine.

Still, she had plenty of time to think over what had happened. Hermione knew that she had looked the basilisk in the eye. She knew that a person who caught the basilisk's gaze died. This, however, did not explain what had happened to her.

Why hadn't she died?


	3. June 9th 1994

"Expecto patronum," said Hermione, trying to find an appropriately happy memory to power the charm.

The world became darker and darker with each attempt. There had to be a swarm of eighty or ninety dementors bearing down upon them, and all she can think about is Colleen and falling. Some things were better left in the past where they belonged.

Everything had seemed to be going so well, despite Snape's refusal to give Sirius the benefit of the doubt-although in all fairness Hermione was relatively sure that had something to do with Sirius almost feeding Snape to Professor Lupin, which was a story she still couldn't decide if she wanted to know all or nothing about-and then everything had gone to hell so very quickly. Pettigrew had escaped and Professor Lupin had forgotten his potion and was now running about somewhere on the grounds, completely uncontrollable.

'_Run,'_ whispered a voice on the wind.

'_I can't,'_ Hermione wanted to say.

* * *

This entire night was… insane. The only way to describe it was insane. Time travelling to get to class was one thing, to try to save a man's life without accidentally creating an alternate reality or a paradox was another thing entirely.

Hermione held onto Buckbeak's lead tightly, watching from the inside of Hagrid's cabin as Harry ran toward the lake, presumably in search of his father's ghost-not that he would willingly admit that. She was terrified that Professor Lupin was still out there, however Hermione could not bring herself to let Harry do this alone.

She opened the door and followed in Harry's footsteps. Almost as if in response to her wishes, the shadows seemed to twist, hiding herself and Buckbeak. Harry looked so lost, like he couldn't quite believe that his father wasn't there, however Hermione's attention was on their past selves.

All she could see was a dementor lowering its hood. It pressed its mouth to Hermione's past self. Hermione stared, horrified, as what she had assumed her several different coincidences coalesced into a picture that made no sense. She died. Her soul was eaten by a dementor, and yet, she was still there, still alive and aware. Technically, the Dementor's Kiss left behind an empty shell, however she chose to ignore that for the moment.

And then Harry figured out what had really happened when he thought he saw his father and cast what had to be an incredibly powerful patronus charm. From there, it was a race against time to save Sirius, leaving Hermione very little time to think over what this might mean.

When she finally returned to her bed in the Hospital Wing, Hermione was left with only her thoughts for company. How many times had she died? At least twice, possibly thrice, that she could remember, but were they the only ones? Why did she survive? How did she survive?

* * *

Ending Notes: I did my best not to copy anything directly from PoA, however, scenes from about page 382 to page 413 were used as reference material to ensure I got the order of events right. I prefer not to rehash events which occurred within the books, however in this case, I had to.


	4. January 17th 1990

"I'm not sure this is such a good idea," said Hermione. The ten year old shifted her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably.

Sometimes, Hermione couldn't wait until she was old enough to attend Hogwarts. Surely magical school had to be better than St. Trinian's. Although she was rather sure that it would not be the best of ideas to commit a crime whilst attending Hogwarts. Who knew what the teachers would or wouldn't be able to do to the perpetrators? And that was ignoring the fact that it was the only Wizarding school in the country and that a Wizarding witch or wizard was a danger to themselves and others if not properly trained. If she had to be a nice, law abiding citizen for seven years to receive that training, so be it. Her mother's family had survived this restriction upon their actions for centuries, Hermione could survive it as well.

It was not that Hermione didn't like St. Trinian's, it was that she sometimes felt her classmates went too far. It was one thing to cheat at sports or to involve themselves in illegal betting or to make moonshine, it was another thing entirely to summon demons or rob a jewelry store. If one of her classmates wanted to commit a crime, so be it, however Hermione would prefer that they not commit such crimes whilst still in school. If one whisper reached the wrong person's ear, one misstep, one mistake, and the entire school would come under suspicion. Better to stick to minor crimes than to risk that. The police were already suspicious of St. Trinian's, it was better not to add fuel to the fire.

"Oh come on," said Colleen. "He's a supervillain. A real, honest to God supervillain. How often do you see one of those these days?"

"So what? The guy is recruiting minions. We are St. Trinian's girls. We are not and never will be minions. And why is he trying to recruit ten year old girls? That's a little-alright, a lot-creepy on a whole host of different levels. What if this is some sort of human trafficking scam?"

Realizing her companion was ignoring her, Hermione tried to different tactic. "I don't know… working with a supervillain risks catching the attention of a cape." Things had been quiet on a global level since the capes in the U.S. had been semi-forcibly retired in the early nineteen fifties, however there were still super heroes-known colloquially as capes-working in various countries on a local level, although they tried to keep a low profile and were rather rare. Hermione was unsure about the specifics, however she knew it had something to do with the House of Un-American Activities Commission and the Justice Society of America disbanding rather than being forced to reveal their secret identities. Some members of the JSA and other teams in the U.S. were still active, however they were few and far between. (1) "Do you really want to be looking over your shoulder for a cape for the rest of your life?"

"Do be serious," said Colleen. "Everybody knows the capes are too scared of being forced to unmask to actually be effective."

Hermione opened her mouth to try to explain everything wrong with her friend's statement, and then decided to keep her peace. It simply wasn't worth it. Colleen would believe what she wanted to believe. There weren't too many capes in the United Kingdom, however Hermione had no desire to get on the bad side of any of them. There was something about those vigilantes that frightened her. What was to stop them from being just as bad, if not worse than the so-called supervillains? The public loved capes, and so long as it was nothing more than rumor, they would see no bad in them. Hermione could not help but wonder how often those masks and do-gooder attitudes hid serious mental problems. If they really wanted to help so much, couldn't they become police officers? Or had they failed the psychological requirements to get the job? (2)

Her mother, Cynthia Goldberg nee Granger, her aunt, Eunice Marshall nee Granger, and her grandmother, Mara Granger had all been St. Trinian's girls in their day, had all gone into a life of crime-although officially they were an oral surgeon, a secondary school algebra teacher, and a housewife respectively-and none of them would willingly put themselves in a position where they would face off against a cape. The Granger women had been forgers, thieves, and occasionally gun molls for generations. Perhaps it was because of their influence that she felt the way she did. They were so very circumspect in their illegal dealings-while her grandfather, Marius knew what they really did, her stepfather and uncle did not-and perhaps their views had rubbed off on Hermione. (3)

"Here it is," said Colleen. "River Road. We're looking for number thirty two."

"That way," sighed Hermione, pointing south. "Please tell me you're armed."

"A knife," she shrugged, as though that was an appropriate amount of weaponry.

"Damnit, Colleen. I only have the one knife, I can't lend you anything," said Hermione. Actually, she had two knives, a .38, and a .45 on her, not that she would admit that, just in case they were being watched. Discretely, she passed the .38 to her friend, using her duffle coat, full knee length skirt and its fluffy petticoat to hide her actions.

A discrete nod and an, "It's alright," were Colleen's only reaction. She hid slipped the gun into the waistband of her trousers.

She shivered slightly, grateful that she'd worn leggings instead of tights. The snow had already been shoveled off the sidewalks of the small coastal town, however it was still the middle of winter and quite cold. Normally, Hermione didn't mind skirts. They were part of the school uniform and wearing skirts on her off time wasn't that big a deal. Hermione was not a girly girl, nor did she possess the desire to become a Posh Tottie when she was old enough, however she did enjoy how feminine skirts made her feel and had no compunctions against playing into the stereotypes her culture was rife with. Still, it might be nice to be able to wear trousers in the midst of winter or when playing sports.

For a moment she wondered what it would be like to wear trousers before shrugging it off. Her grandfather was a squib and with Mara's implicit permission had raised both his daughters to be quite traditional both socially and in manner of dress. Cynthia had not even thought twice about passing these values on to both Hermione and her sister, Ophelia. In all fairness, Ophelia was barely four years old and didn't know yet that women in England often wore trousers, and while Hermione's stepfather, Martin, was rather conservative and appreciated Cynthia's views.

Absently she reached under her scarf and fingered the battered gold Star of David which hung from a sturdy matching chain about her neck. The Grangers had been Jewish since her great grandmother Ruth Weinstein had married John Granger just after the First World War. She wondered what her father would think about how she was raised. Hermione had never met the man and Cynthia rarely spoke of him, however she knew he was a mercenary Cynthia had forged false documents for. Hermione didn't even know what his real name was, let alone what he looked like. Would he approve of her criminal activities? What would he think about her magic? Martin had reacted well to the knowledge that both she and Ophelia were witches, but Hermione knew that not all normal humans did.

Eventually they found the proper building. It was, Hermione realized more than a little trepidation long before they reached it, a rather isolated warehouse. This was not good.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Don't be such a baby," said Colleen.

As they approached the warehouse, it became apparent that there was a pair of guards in front of the entrance, both armed with rather large guns. This was the United Kingdom, how on Earth did they manage to get access to such things? Cynthia, she knew, had gotten the pair of handguns she'd given to Hermione back when she and Eunice were involved in the arms trade in their youth. She blinked. No, those weren't guns, they were something more advanced. Laser rifles? Some sort of sonic weapon? Perhaps. Hermione didn't know enough to say for sure.

Colleen pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to one of the guards before they had a chance to say anything. "The raven flies at night."

"Go on in," said the stockier of the two, opening the door for them as Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. Really? They were doing passwords and written invitations?

The minute they entered Hermione noticed the men in skin tight costumes wandering about. All but one wore matching costumes in eye watering shades of neon green and pale lavender. Hermione fought the urge to laugh. They might look ridiculous, but she had no doubt they were incredibly dangerous. The one dressed differently was in lavender with green accents. It was clear by the way he was treated that either he was in charge or he was second in command. This was not going to end well.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, they were immediately greeted by the man in charge. "Ah, there you are." He paused, taking in the sight of them. "Mary didn't tell me you were so young."

"We are the top of our class as St. Trinian's," stated Colleen. "There's nobody better than Erma here at forgeries and I'm the best safe cracker in the country."

"I'm the Maelstrom," he said, as an introduction.

Hermione couldn't help but wonder why he'd chosen that name. He didn't taste of magic or even like a metahuman-each felt a little different from normal humans, although Hermione would describe it more like a taste at the back of the throat. Some sort of weather technology? Or maybe because he just thought the name sounded good. Still, the man made her feel uneasy. He seemed kind and easy going, however Hermione was sure that was a mask of some sort. No supervillain was really that nice.

"I'm Erma," said Hermione, latching onto the much hated nickname the other girls at St. Trinian's used for her. There was no way she was using her real name.

"Colleen."

"So… I suppose we should start with your duties," said Maelstrom.

"Excuse me," said Hermione, "but I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding. While I have no issue with making forgeries for you and your… employees, I do have other commitments. I have a policy of working strictly freelance."

"Oh no, there's been no misunderstanding. I'm afraid that you'll have to break those commitments. By coming here, you agreed to work for me."

"No, I didn't." Hermione shifted into a more balanced stance, putting a hand near her .45. She had known this was a bad idea.

"I think we're going to leave now," said Colleen.

"Are you sure you won't reconsider?" asked Maelstrom.

"I'm sure," said Colleen.

"Me too," agreed Hermione, even though she knew it was a bad idea.

"Number One, please deal with these two."

"Yes Boss," said a solidly built man.

Hermione considered trying to shoot her way out, however she knew it wouldn't work. They were greatly outnumbered and outgunned.

They were quickly tied up, gagged, and then hustled into the backseat of a car. From there Number One along with another of Maelstrom's minions drove them farther and farther from town. Carefully, Hermione began to attempt to work her hands out of their bonds. Unfortunately, Number One actually knew how to tie proper knots. It wasn't loose enough for her to be able to take her thumb out of its socket and slip her hand free.

With more than a little worry, Hermione realized they were driving away from town. Beside her, Colleen had begun to cry. Carefully, Hermione edged toward Colleen and pressed her left side against Colleen's right. It was all the comfort she could give her at the moment. Hermione shook slightly, blinking back tears of her own.

When they reached the ocean, Number One parked the car. She and Colleen were dragged out of the car before Number One motioned toward a path.

"Move," he ordered.

They were going to die, Hermione realized. These people were going to kill them.

She wanted to stay still, to refuse to move, however she knew that if she did so, they might just kill them there. Or maybe they would pick her up and keep on walking. If they did so they might notice the weaponry hidden under her clothing. With that thought, Hermione began to walk. So long as Number One and his little sidekick didn't know about their weapons, there was a chance they might be able to escape.

The path wound away from the beach and up the cliffs. They quickly came to the end of where the parking lot had been shoveled and were forced to wade through the snow, using the clearly defined space between bushes and trees to decipher where the path actually was. The rhythmic sound of the waves hitting the rocks bellow was barely discernable above the sound of her own heart beating.

Eventually, they reached the top of a rather tall cliff. Hermione stiffened. She hated heights. She'd been terrified of heights for as long as she could remember.

"Untie them and take out the gags," ordered Number One after she and Colleen had been positioned at the edge of the cliff.

The ropes were quickly undone and the gags removed, however Hermione made no move to pull her .45 out from where it was tucked under her voluminous skirt. She couldn't move, couldn't think. All she could think about was how very close they were to the edge of the cliff. All she could see was how very far down the water was. There were several rocks which jutted up from the water at the base of the cliff. Some detached portion of her mind wondered if it was high tide at the moment, and if so, if the rocks were connected to the shore during low tide. The rest of her mind was too caught up in just how high the cliff was.

"Colleen!" screamed Hermione, as she saw her companion fall.

A moment later there was an odd, almost Star Wars or Star Trek like sound that Hermione generally associated with blasters and phasers. There was a burning pain in her back and then she tumbled off the cliff.

'_So they are using laser rifles,'_ she could not help but think.

* * *

Hermione took a gasping breath as she felt something crash against her. Water. It was water, she realized. She opened her eyes, only to close them again at a burning sensation. She clutched desperately at the rock she was laying upon as the water tried to drag her back out again.

What was going on?

And then it came back to her.

Hermione climbed further up onto the rock before allowing herself to break down. Colleen was dead. She wouldn't give up that stupid idea that supervillainy was so glamorous and look what it had gotten her. Hermione let out a broken sob. Her best friend was dead and she was trying to assign blame. Nobody, nothing could have survived being shot that way and falling off that cliff.

It was not until some time later that she thought to ask how she had survived. Perhaps it was accidental magic. Yes, that made sense. Her accidental magic had protected her. Hermione resolutely refused to acknowledge that thanks to the many hours she'd spent studying occlumency and legilimency from her grandfather, she generally had enough control over herself and her magic that it rarely reacted unless she willed it to do so.

Maelstrom had ordered both herself and Colleen killed and Number One and his assistant had carried out those orders. For that… for that she wanted all three of them dead. She would avenge Colleen's death.

Carefully, Hermione opened her eyes. She found herself perched upon a stone jutting up out of the water. The shore, thankfully, was relatively close by. She ignored the bone deep chill in the air that was not at all helped by her clothing, which was soaking wet. Hermione pushed herself to her feet and walked to the edge of the rock. She considered getting a running start, but decided against risking slipping off. Instead she jumped, crashing to the ground half on the shore, half in the water.

Gingerly, Hermione climbed onto the shore and then tried to decide which way to head. Too low to be heard clearly over the sound of the waves, she heard faintly familiar whispers. She turned and began to walk. When she found the beach and parking lot that Number One had used, Hermione searched her memory before setting off. Revenge first, and then she would return to school.

The sun was just beginning to rise by the time she managed to make her way back to the town. Eventually, she found herself several blocks from the warehouse Maelstrom was using. Hermione stopped, hiding in an alley as she tried to decide precisely how to properly avenge Colleen.

Her gun was probably in need of a good cleaning before she could even consider using it again. And even if she did use it, the time between each shot would probably give them a chance to kill her. Not that she was even sure her aim was good enough. Their stupid looking uniforms were probably armored anyway. Too bad she had neither a wand nor magical training. It would have been so nice to be able to curse them.

Except… she remembered Cynthia's stories about their ancestors. Half the time, Wizarding witches and wizards hadn't even had proper wands up until the mid-fourteenth century. They'd managed just fine without wands. There had been runes and potions and wandless magic. With enough willpower, determination, and the proper words to twist their magic, they'd been able to make up and cast spells at the drop of a hat.

That was what she would do. She would try to curse them.

Using all the stealth she'd learned from her mother, Hermione snuck up to the warehouse, choosing to remain outside at the window rather than enter. Maelstrom really needed better security, she decided.

Hermione tilted her head as she contemplated how to phrase the curse. And then it came to her. She gathered her magic and released it, muttering, "For their crimes against Colleen White, for their crimes against me, may Maelstrom and all who wear his banner be haunted in their waking and sleeping hours by their actions, may they suffer as we suffered until they have breathed their last."

The magic almost seemed to lock into place. The curse had worked, Hermione realized, more than a little satisfied. She wanted them dead, but this was better she decided. There were far worse things than death. Hermione wanted them to suffer for many years before they were granted the sweet relief of death.

* * *

(1) It's difficult to figure out exactly what happened as the JSA's history has been retconned a number of times since Earth 1 and Earth 2 became the same dimension, however the H.U.A.C. is generally accepted as the reason the JSA disappeared from public sight. Of course, there were a number of other teams and superheroes active in the 1940s, so I've just said that they either retired to avoid the H.U.A.C. or they essentially went to ground. Likewise, I assume superheroes in other countries went to ground to avoid what happened in the U.S. from happening to them. I'm ignoring the past couple years, by the way, because I haven't been up to date on DC since Identity Crisis.

(2) Hermione is, of course, perhaps a bit too cautious. This isn't the same universe as the Watchmen or even Marvel Comics; still, considering her family's criminal background and young age, her views are appropriate, if generally inaccurate.

(3) Eunice and Cynthia were two of the few named girls from Ron Searle's original cartoons. Cynthia did indeed have a sister and Eunice looks a bit like Cynthia's sister (alright, all the girls look a bit alike), so I've made them sisters.


	5. Interlude 1: July 27th 1994

Interlude 1

It had taken the better part of the summer, however eventually Hermione managed to track him down. Hermione hated dealing with such shady people-the Maelstrom incident had turned her off criminal enterprises almost entirely, although she still felt a certain sense of satisfaction every time she thought about Maelstrom's well publicized suicide by cop several years prior-however she'd had no choice. At least she had the Quidditch World Cup to look forward to. She might not be the most avid Quidditch fan around, however she was excited about it.

Hermione double checked her clothing, smoothing her almost knee length a-line skirt and her t-shirt. Her wildly uncontrollable hair had been tied back into a long, thick plait. Along with the wand strapped under her t-shirt, there was a knife under her top and a gun strapped to her thigh. He might be family, however Hermione would be the first to admit that blood meant very little to some.

She knocked on the door to the apartment, not quite sure what to expect. The door snapped open a minute later, revealing a stocky man a handful of inches taller than Hermione. He was solidly built with brown hair and eyes, a handful of old white scars decorating what little skin was visible. The man was exactly as Cynthia had described him. Hermione bit her lip nervously.

"Yeah?"

"Harry Lewis?" she asked, using the alias the man was currently living under.

"Uhm… I'm Hermione Granger. I believe my mother; Cynthia Granger did some work for you, about fifteen years ago." Hermione let out a sigh. "Mum… Mum says you're my father." At the hard look on his face and the way his body tensed, she said quickly, "I die. I keep on dying, but I don't stay dead. It's not from Mum's side of the family. The people on that side stay dead when they die. Well, unless a necromancer's involved. But Mum said… Mum said that when she was with you, you died and came back, and she thinks… she thinks the dying thing is from you."

He opened the door further, allowing her to enter the apartment. "How many times?"

"Somewhere between two and four, I think. I'm not sure how many times I've died," admitted Hermione.

"How can you not be sure?"

Hermione shrugged. "Mum said I died once when I was a baby. I know I died when I was thirteen, but I'm not sure about what happened when I was ten or a month and a half ago." She shrugged. "I'm not very good at avoiding trouble."

"Jake," he offered. "My real name is Jake. You thirsty?"

"A little."

"Water or beer?"

"Beer. Definitely beer." The Wizarding believed that if somebody was tall enough to see over the counter, they were old enough to drink. Between that and the alcohol served at Gryffindor's regular parties, she had a much higher threshold than most her age.

Once they were settled in the living room with a bottle of beer apiece, Jake said, "Tell my about the deaths you're not sure about."

"My mother can't use magic herself, but she's from a family of witches and wizards and I inherited the ability to use magic from her." Hermione paused trying to decide how to phrase it. "When I was ten, a friend and I did something very stupid. It ended with us being shot with lasers and then pushed off a ten story high cliff and into the ocean. I woke up in the ocean. Colleen's body washed up on the shore a day later. Sometimes… sometimes a person's magic had act to protect them. We call it accidental magic. I thought… I thought my magic had protected me. Now I'm not so sure."

She took a fortifying swig of beer as Jake seemed to mull over her words. "And the other death you mentioned?"

"My soul was eaten by a dementor-a type of low level demon. When that happens… the body still lives, but it's left as an empty shell. I know it ate my soul, yet I woke up an hour later, with my body and soul intact. I don't know what happened or how my soul got back into my body. My soul just decided to wander back into my body without any outside influence. I don't even know if that would qualify as a death or not."

"It probably does," said Jake. "Nine deaths. That's how many you get. The ninth time you die, you'll stay dead. It's the… family curse."

"Having nine lives is a curse?"

"It can be," Jake said, his bitterness clear as day. "We don't age the way we should. Me father looks like he's fifty at most, and he's nearing a hundred. Me, I was born in forty eight and I don't look anywhere near forty six years old."

"What are-what are you up to?" He was right, he looked like he was in his late twenties. Then again, some of the Wizarding could live to be as much as a hundred and eighty to two hundred years old, although those who reached the latter were rare.

"I'm on my eighth life now."

"You mentioned your father…"

Jake looked away. For several long moments he said nothing, and then he began to speak.


	6. September 25th 1983

"All the gold in California, is hidden in a bank in the middle of Beverly Hills in somebody else's name," sang Hermione, carefully brushing the hair of her Black Canary doll. Justice Society of America dolls weren't all that popular anymore, but her mother had gotten her the entire set, from Wonder Woman to Wildcat to the Sandman. She even had Hawkman and Green Lantern dolls. Ever since the JSA had disbanded in the early fifties, the dolls had been loosing popularity and were now almost impossible to find. "So if you're dreaming, about California, it don't matter-"(1)

"Hermione, come out to the living room," called out Cynthia.

"Yes Mummy," said Hermione.

Carrying her doll, she wandered out of her small bedroom and into the main room of the apartment. Elaine Walton stood near the entrance, a handful of books clutched to her chest. The teenager lived two floors down with parents and a handful of younger siblings and was the babysitter of choice in their apartment building.

"Alright, supper's in the oven. Take it out when the timer goes off. There should be more than enough for you to take leftovers home with you. I should be back by two-the movie gets out late. Feel free to bed down on the couch for the night if you want to," said Cynthia, as she double checked her makeup in a pocket mirror from her makeup case.

"No problem, Doc," said Elaine. "Anything else?"

"Bedtime's at eight, bath beforehand. Uhm… Oh, Hermione's up to chapter four of 'The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.' Only read her one chapter for her bedtime story." Cynthia smoothed the skirt of her dress. "Do I look okay?"

"Yeah. That dress is real nice. So… hot date?"

Cynthia nodded. "With the orthodontist down the hall from my office."

"Nice," said Elaine.

"Alright, Martin will be here any minute to pick me up. Hermione, be good for Elaine."

"Yes, Mummy."

When the buzzer rang, Cynthia called down with the intercom to say that she would be there in a minute. Cynthia knelt down and gave Hermione a hug before walking out.

"Bye bye," she said before turning her attention back to the Black Canary doll.

While Elaine set up her books to study, Hermione wandered back into her room to dress up her Black Canary doll in a dress from a Barbie doll. Black Canary was going to go undercover to get evidence on mobsters and she needed to look pretty. The Ken dolls and a couple G.I. Joes were set up as the mobsters, with the Barbies as their wives and girlfriends. One of the Kens was upset because another mobster ken had kidnapped his mistress-Malibu Barbie-and sent her arm to him as a message.

She glanced up, smiling. "Kitty!"

The small black and white kitten was perched on the railing of the fire escape. Hermione's window was actually a yard from the fire escape. It was through a window in her mother's bedroom that the fire escape was accessible. The window was already half open to let the breezy autumn air enter. Hermione climbed up onto the trunk in front of the window to get a better look at the cat, overbalancing. The girl fell against the screen, knocking it from its proper position. For one terrifying moment, Hermione realized she was going to fall. Hermione tried to grab the ledge, but came away with only air.

She fell for what felt like eternity. There was a flash of pain and then Hermione felt nothing.

* * *

Hermione blinked, wondering how she had gotten to the little garden in the alley between her home and the neighboring apartment building. There was a kitten and then… And then… And then what? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the shadows stretching toward her, as though they were trying to comfort her. There was a whisper, a voice just far enough out of earshot not to be understood carried to her by the wind. A chill went down her spine even as she allowed its warmth and friendliness to wrap around her.

"Hermione? How did you get down here?" asked Elaine, coming around the side of the building. "And how did you get so dirty?"

"There was a kitty," she explained.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

With that Elaine led her back into the building. Hermione never did remember what happened that day, however from that time forward, she was terrified of heights.

* * *

(1) Hermione sang is "All the gold in California" by Larry Gatlin and the Gatlin Brothers Band. As she is very young, don't expect the words to be completely accurate.


	7. June 30th 1996

"It's… nice," said Hermione, looking over the relatively modest brownstone.

"It's a dump," said Ophelia. The ten, soon to be eleven year old wrinkled her nose. "And it's on the corner of three different gangs' territories."

"Fifi, we're in Bludhaven. What exactly did you expect?" asked Mara. (1)

Hermione smiled. "The wards are all set, so you should be safe enough." It had taken her the better part of the last four days to build the wards and inscribe the rune arrays which anchored said wards in discrete locations.

Once Hermione had explained the Voldemort situation, her family had decided to leave the country and go into hiding. They would have preferred that she go with them, however they were rather understanding of Hermione's desire to remain in the UK. The brownstone had been chosen because it was cheap enough for them to buy using some of the family's misbegotten gains and large enough for them all to live there comfortably. Not only were Hermione's parents and younger sister moving into the building, but so were her grandparents and aunt Eunice, along with her own husband and all four of the little hellions she called her sons. Hermione estimated that the boys would be involved with either a gang or the local mob within a year.

Ophelia was a bit upset about missing the last couple weeks of her final term at St. Trinian's, as her birthday was in a month and she would have been sent to a school of magic in September. Now, she would be going to the Salem Witches' Institute, instead of Hogwarts, however given the political situation, that was probably for the best.

"I don't know when I'll see you again," said Hermione. "Be safe."

"You too," said Mara. "Don't take any unnecessary risks.

"And remember the lessons you learned in primary school," added Cynthia, moving to stand in the doorway.

"I will," said Hermione. She might hold a great deal of disdain for criminal enterprises of a certain nature; however she had to admit that her mother had a point. A St. Trinian's girl knew how to survive. "Anything to add to whatever cover story I create?"

"Say you sent us to Australia," giggled Ophelia. "The animals and the weather would probably kill us before Death Eaters could."

"And that you erased our memories, so that information could not be tortured out of us," added Mara.

"Oh!" said Cynthia, looking rather excited. "I wanted to learn to wrestle alligators-"

"I thought it was crocodiles in Australia," interjected Ophelia.

"-and Martin wanted to study great white sharks and learn to surf. He's only lost the one limb so far, so he's doing great."

Hermione let out a snort that sounded more like "snerk!" than anything else. "I think you're enjoying this a bit too much."

"I wanna learn to be a barrel racer and compete in the rodeo," said Ophelia.

"No problem Fifs." Hermione bit her lip. "You'll… you'll try to stay under the local cape's radar, right"

"Is there even a local cape?" asked Ophelia.

"Batman over in Gotham, I think. Although there may be a couple more low key capes in the area," said Cynthia. "We will."

"Thanks." Over the past four years there had been a major upswing in superhero activity. The formation of the Justice League of America-known as the JLA for short-only made this all the more apparent that. "I have to get going. Can't miss my flight."

"Have fun smuggling yourself through the Chunnel," said Ophelia.

"You're just jealous you don't have an excuse to practice sneaking across international borders," said Hermione. "And I'm not going through the Chunnel on the way back. I think I'll take a ferry."

Left unsaid was that it was safer to travel by boat in case Death Eaters attacked. At least then she wouldn't have to worry about spell fire damaging the Channel Tunnel and perhaps causing it to collapse, killing she didn't want to think about how many people. On the ferry she'd only have to worry about a single boat's worth of people.

Once Hermione had said her goodbyes, she set out. Through judicious use of public transportation, she managed to get to Gotham city within a little less than an hour. At the train station, she spent some time studying the map of the city's subway trains and another of the bus routes to figure out the best way to the international airport. She was supposed to catch the redeye to Paris-her ticket purchased under an assumed name, of course. They had no desire to risk being discovered on the off chance that one of the Death Eaters or their sympathizers might know enough about non-magical technology.

Once a route was decided upon, Hermione shouldered her small carryon bag and headed out. There were two changes of clothing and a handful of necessary items in the bag. Everything else was in her trunk, which, along with Crookshanks, she'd sent on to the Weasley's home with Ron and Ginny at the train station a week and a half prior.

It took her little time to find the appropriate subway station and exchange two dollars for tokens. She changed trains twice before walking in the general direction of a bus stop for the twelve, which stopped at the airport.

About a block away from the stop, she felt someone try to pull her carryon from her. Hermione spun around, pulling out a knife hidden underneath her canvas skirt. The holster it was in was inscribed with a rune array that would hide it from metal detectors and physical searches. It was simply too dangerous for her to use her wand at the moment in case anything thought to track her magical signature. She could not risk her family.

"Don't even think about it," she said.

"Shut up, bitch. Whacha gonna do with that?" asked the would be thief.

He was in his mid-twenties and looked vaguely Italian. A member of a local gang? More worrying was the gun he'd just pulled out. The shadows from the tall building shifted and changed, taking the form of monsters that looked like they would give anything to be able to devour her attacker. Unfortunately, her connection to the shadows was too tenuous for them to take physical form. Although she had noticed that each time she died, her connection to the shadows grew stronger.

Sometimes Hermione wondered if she would ever be able to use the shadows as some of her less than illustrious ancestors had, or if she would die her final death before she reached that point. Even now, two years after she'd learned what her mother had had done to her, Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about it. Despite her connection being this limited, she knew that given half a chance, the shadows would control her, much the way fiendfyre controlled its wielder.

Before Hermione had a chance to say anything, he pulled the trigger. There was an incongruous flash of yellow and red and then nothing.

* * *

"I hate it when this happens," muttered Hermione, sitting up. Something fell off her forehead and bounced onto the ground.

By now she recognized far too well what it felt like to die. It was then that she remembered what had happened. She should have played dead, Hermione realized. With a mental shrug, Hermione decided it was too late for that.

Her eyes opened as she took in the sight before her. The object which had fallen off her was a bullet, presumably the one which had killed her. Her carryon bag lay upon the ground a couple feet away Several feet away, a small, dark haired figure in a yellow-yellow, really?-cloak was tying up her attacker. Hermione blinked, and suddenly the image made sense. Robin. He was Robin, the Batman's almost criminally young sidekick. Hermione had seen mention of him in a tabloid, although his existence was considered more rumor than fact. (2)

Robin turned around, revealing his odd, red shirt and green underwear uniform. Despite the mask, Hermione could tell just how young the child really was. He was no older than a First Year, and the sixteen, soon to be seventeen year old wanted to wrap him in a blanket and protect him from the man who thought it acceptable to send him out to fight crime. He was too young to be doing this. She'd done things just as dangerous at that age, however Hermione knew that hypocritical though it was, she would never allow a child so young to involve themselves in such dangerous situations.

"I-you. Are you a zombie?" said Robin.

"No, I'm not," laughed Hermione. "Why would you think that?"

"The bullet went straight through your forehead!"

Absently Hermione patted her head. "Do I have a bald spot in the back?"

"Uh, no. There wasn't an exit wound. But-"

"Look kid, it's magic, alright. Family curse. You can kill us, but it's hard to make us stay dead," she explained, not wanting to say too much. She would respect her father's request. At least for the moment.

"Oh. Are you a sorceress?"

"Witch. Different branch of magic. It's like… the difference between uh… algebra and geometry classes," she explained at his blank look. "Is there any blood on me?"

"Just-just on your forehead."

"Oh, good. I don't need to change, then. Do you have any wetnaps?"

"Here," said Robin, pulling something from his utility belt.

"Thanks." Hermione wiped at her forehead and then asked, "Did I get it all?"

"Yeah."

"Right. Thanks for the rescue, but I need to be going now."

"Aren't you going to press charges? He killed you!"

"And then I'd have to explain the family curse to the police, which would not end well. I've only got so many lives left, kid."

"I-oh alright." He lifted up a familiar gold chain with a Star of David hanging from it. "I saw him take this off you."

"Thanks," said Hermione, taking the necklace and putting it back on. "Be safe, kid."

"Bye," he said, waving.

* * *

(1) Bludhaven is-well, was, but I'm ignoring that-Gotham's much more corrupt and dangerous neighbor, about half an hour away.

(2) Yes, this is indeed Dick Grayson, the original Robin. Given the nature of comic book time, I'd estimate he would have been born in 1986 or 87, making him roughly ten or eleven in the summer of 1997, given that he's currently in his mid-twenties, making him twenty five or six in 2012 (I started writing this in 2012).


	8. August 12th 1998

Although the Battle of Hogwarts as it was coming to be known was the turning point of the war and marked the death of the so-called Dark Lord Voldemort, many institutions, such as the Ministry itself, Azkaban, and St. Mungo's had still been under Death Eater control. Under Kingsley's leadership, Azkaban had already been liberated and the Muggle-Borns illegially imprisoned freed-although disturbingly few had survived long enough to be imprisoned and even less had held out until the liberation. At this point, he was mainly an army of leading volunteers with only a handful of trained Aurors, Hitwizards, and Unspeakables mixed in. Hermione herself, had been teamed up with an Obliviator named John Goodwin, Hitwizard Larry Cooper, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, and Theodore Nott Jr.-who had fought on their side during the Battle of Hogwarts, along with a handful of other Slytherin students. Hermione had only had a little bit of training as a Curse Breaker from Ted Tonks-when she was younger, he'd been more than happy to teach her whenever she asked-and from Professors Babbling and Vector in the wake of the Battle of Hogwarts, however she was skilled enough that they were relatively sure she would be able to manage.

The team was one of half a dozen involved in retaking the Ministry. At the signal, Hermione began to work at unraveling the wards surrounding one of the back entrances to the Ministry that Kingsley had shown her. It was a brick wall at the far side of an alley. The other teams were either waiting for the floo or for the visitor's entrance, which had Professor Babbling and Bill Weasley respectively working on them. It didn't take long for her to create a hole in the wards using crochet hook like ward picks, each made of wood, metal, or bone and inscribed with runes. It was a process much like lock picking, although far more time consuming and dangerous.

"Got it," said Hermione. "The door's safe to open at any time."

"Great," said Cooper.

At the appropriate time, Goodwin opened the door and once Hermione had confirmed there were no traps, the four of them entered. Hermione perched herself on an upended crate, spreading the skirts of her battle robes about her. She and Neville had been assigned to keep the entrance open just in case the worst happened and their forces needed an escape route."

In all honesty, it was rather boring work. There was nothing for them to do other than wait in silence. If they talked, they could become distracted or miss something important.

'_They come,'_ the shadows whispered.

Mostly, Hermione ignored the whispers. Her occlumency shields helped keep the voices from her mind. Hermione only lowered the shields when she knew she was going into life threatening situations.

Hermione pulled out her wand and stood, motioning toward Neville to prepare himself. He gave her an odd look, however he tensed, readying himself for battle. She backed up and out of the way. Kingsley had made it clear that it was Hermione's duty to stay out of the fight and allow the others to protect her.

An unfamiliar man burst out of the doorway, blood covering his robes. In an instant, Neville had engaged him in battle. Hermione did her best to stay out of the way. And then a trio of men stumbled through the door. Hermione had only a moment to see the green light of spell fire, and then nothing.

* * *

When she awoke, it was to find Neville securing the stunned and bound bodies of the survivors. Two of their attackers, Hermione noted, were well and truly dead.

"Hermione?" said Neville, giving her an almost disbelieving look, as though he couldn't quite comprehend that she was still alive.

"I think I was hit by a hiudner curse," she said. The curse was almost the same green as the Killing Curse and it was thankfully nonlethal. "I already cast the counter-curse."

"Of course," he said. Neville cleared his throat. "Your glamour slipped."

"My glamour?"

"The one hiding your nails and fangs."

She glanced at her hand, wondering just what Neville was speaking about. It wasn't unusual for members of the Wizarding, particularly those with a nonhuman ancestor or two, such as herself to have the occasional unusual feature, but so far as she knew, she had neither claws nor fangs, despite a number of her mother's relations possessing them.

It was subtle, and if not for the knowledge of what Tonks had looked like in her base form or what the terrible quartet better known as her aunt Eunice's sons looked like, she would never have realized that she did indeed possess claws. A quick probe with her tongue proved that her canines were sharper than normal.

"I didn't realize," said Hermione.

"Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just thought that…"

"I know. I usually hide them, but I suppose the curse must have stripped the glamour from my body," she says, supplying him with a cover story that made sense, even if it was completely false. "I-I'm going to sit down. I think I need to rest a bit."

"You said it was the hiudner curse, right?"

"Yes."

Hermione knew Neville didn't believe her, however at least he was willing to go along with her story. Until the day he died, Neville never did ask how she survived.


	9. Interlude 2: November 12th 1998

Interlude 2

It was nearly five in the morning when Hermione slipped out onto the front stoop of the brownstone. So many families had been utterly destroyed by the war while hers… hers had flourished. Hermione sat down on the stone railing and took a sip of her tea.

"Everything alright?" asked Cynthia, sitting down next to her.

"Yeah. I guess." Hermione shrugged. "I got a job offer. I… I accepted a position with the Obliviators-third squad-once I take my NEWTs." While her friends had chosen to go directly into the work force, the nineteen year old had returned to Hogwarts to finish her Seventh Year, which had been missed due to the Horcrux hunt the year prior.

"I thought you thought Obliviators were despicable."

"They are. But somebody has to do it and I'd rather that somebody be me. At least I know I'll do my best not to take more from peoples' memories than necessary."

"Didn't you want to be a Curse Breaker? Why can't you do that?"

"It's not exactly possible. About a third of all Curse Breakers are employed by Gringots and as I'm currently an enemy of the Goblin nation thanks to my bank robbing escapade, it's not the safest line of work for me to be in. The field is simply too small."

"You always did have quite the talent for getting into trouble."

"Mm. One of the dangers of being a trouble magnet." It was a longstanding family joke that Hermione was her generation's trouble magnet. After the past couple years, it didn't seem so funny anymore. Hermione handed the empty cup to Cynthia. "I'm going… I'm going out. I'll be back in time for dinner, I think."

Hermione spun in place, apparating to one of the New Amsterdam Magical Enclave's apparition points. The enclave was located in the Lower East Side of New York City and had been in place since the Dutch had first settled that part of North America. The enclave had grown and expanded with each new wave of magical immigrants, although it was still rather small in comparison to some of the European magical communities Hermione could think of, despite the fact that it welcomed people who practiced almost any form of magic.

She stepped out of the side room and into the tavern which much like the Leakey Cauldron guarded the entrance to the completely magical section of the Enclave. She nodded at the barkeep and took a moment to straighten her retro fifties style rose pink wool dress with a high neck and full, mid-calf length skirt given volume by the trio of ruffled petticoats she wore underneath and to make sure that none of her long hair had escaped the white crocheted snood it was confined in. A white cardigan, her duffle coat, and scarf were worn over the dress, to provide warmth. She'd even worn thick leggings and proper boots. It was relatively mild for mid November; however she was taking no chances. The weather could turn at any moment.

She had to be careful about wearing gloves these days. After the death which had brought her to her father's doorstep, her fingernails, incisors, and eyes had begun to change, although it was not until after her most recent death that those changes had become noticeable. In retrospect, Hermione could see those changes happening, however she'd not noticed them until the previous summer. Her fingernails were now razor sharp claws-although with a coat or two of nail polish, almost everybody merely assumed she had an excellent manicure-and her incisors more akin to fangs than anything else. Her eyes… her eyes were the most disturbing. At the moment they were a dull burgundy, however with each death they became redder. Hermione had no doubt that they would eventually become a deep scarlet, should she survive that long.

It took her little time to make her way across the city. She picked up a cup of surprisingly good chai black tea, flavoring it with milk and honey before walking slowly but surely toward her final destination.

It had been so easy to do as her father asked back during the war; Hermione could not help but admit. Then, to speak to this man would only have put him in additional danger. Now that the war was over, Hermione had no idea if she could or would follow his wishes. The temptation was simply too great for her to say what choice she would make.

Hermione slipped into the gym, shedding her bag, jacket, scarf and gloves, which were piled onto an out of the way bench. She double checked that the dark red nail polish she'd used had not started to chip-the last thing she wanted was for somebody to notice her claws. Then she sat down, allowing the shadows to hide her. She had recently discovered that the shadows could twist and turn about her, hiding her from all but the most observant so long as she did not move too much. Unfortunately, she had not managed to manipulate the shadows any further than that. At least not to her knowledge. Of course, her ability to control shadows was all learned by trial and error.

Moments later, Hermione's eyes landed upon the man she still hadn't decided if she would speak to or not. He looked like in his late forties, much as her father had described, for all that he was actually nearing a century in age. There were gray streaks in his dark brown hair and his face was rather grizzled, however in his training clothing, it was clear he was still in the prime of his life.

So this was her paternal grandfather.

He was laughing and joking with a blond man around Hermione's own age. Although they were fighting, it was obvious that it was a friendly spar. Hermione had never learned much about physical fighting beyond how to properly fight dirty in her gym classes back at St. Trinian's, however she could tell that they were both quite skilled. The blond man was perhaps two or three inches taller than her grandfather with short cropped hair, a healthy tan, and a body that was surprisingly slim despite the well defined muscles.

Hermione pulled her knitting needles and her most recent project from her bag, quickly settling in to continue her double knit reversible navy blue and light gray argyle patterned scarf. She'd already made a hat in the same pattern, meaning that she could continue the scarf until she ran out of yarn, which was something of a relief, as she hated having to shorten scarves because of poor planning.

Eventually, Hermione let her hands fall, her magic automatically reacting. Her knitting needles kept right on going, hovering about a foot about her lap as they faithfully stuck to the pattern. Hermione had learned the trick from Mrs. Weasley and often used it when her hands or wrists became tired.

Instead of knitting, she worried at her lip and considered just what to do. Hermione had little idea of what sort of problems her father had with her grandfather. There was some sort of bitter-extremely bitter-resentment on her father's part and a deep seated rage that Hermione wasn't entirely sure was because of her grandfather, despite the fact that her father had aimed it in his direction. She knew the basics of what had happened, however her father had been so young at the time that Hermione was rather sure Jake's memories were somewhat faulty and more than a little biased. Still, her father had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with her grandfather. Jake hadn't said it outright, however Hermione had understood that his unspoken message that he would not forgive her if she ever actually spoke to his father while he still lived.

Admittedly, Jake was in a dangerous line of work-he was a mercenary after all-and on his ninth life-the eight had ended in Kosovo a couple years prior. With the way he lived his life, Hermione had little doubt Jake would soon be dead. Then again, Hermione led an equally hard and dangerous life. Hermione wasn't quite sure what life she was on at the moment, however she knew that she was at least halfway through her lives and she wasn't even twenty yet. It was a little surprising that her grandfather still lived. Considering his line of work, wouldn't he have gone through all nine of his lives by now?

Absently she took a sip of her tea. What should she do? What could she do?

"Uh, Miss, your knitting needles," said a deep male voice.

In an instant the needles fell into her hands. Hermione glanced down, confirming that she was a row from finishing the fifteen row pattern-it was repeated to form the plaid like argyle pattern-and had barely enough yarn left. She continued knitting, this time by hand.

Then she looked back up, only to flush slightly as she realized what had happened. It was bad enough that she had been caught using magic in public-although admittedly, so long as she did not use her wand or reveal she was Wizarding, nobody would care-she had been caught by her grandfather's sparring partner.

"Thank you," said Hermione. "I'm afraid I was wool gathering."

"Are you here to work out?" he asked, his tone and expression making it clear that he did not believe that explanation for an instant.

"No, no. I'm waiting for somebody," she said, only then realizing that the man had seen her despite the shadows protecting her. Had the shadows dissipated because she was not paying them enough attention or was the man simply that aware of his surroundings?

"Your boyfriend…?"

In an instant she made her decision, ending the last stitch and cutting off the excess. Hermione pulled out a plastic yarn needle to weave in the ends. "No. Honestly, I've never even met him before, however we have an acquaintance or two in common." It was a bit of an understatement, however she could not reveal the truth, not yet. No matter what she said, she was sure the man would relate her words to her grandfather after she left.

"Do you need help finding him, Miss…?"

"I know what he looks like," she stated, putting the yarn needle away and pulling out the matching reversible gray and navy hat, with a wide band of argyle patterned stitching in the center. "Thank you for the offer, however."

She put on her outerwear quickly and grabbed her bag and drink. Almost as if summoned, her grandfather approached them. For a moment Hermione drunk in his features. This might be the only time she ever saw him in person, however she would not betray her father's trust.

"So, who's your little friend?" asked her Grandfather.

"I know Christmas isn't for a month and a half, however as I won't be in the country at the time, I thought I'd deliver my present now," she said, before the blond had a chance to respond. She held out the scarf and hat. "Merry Christmas."

"Uh, thanks, uh…?" he said.

"You're welcome."

The blond glanced at where her Star of David hung, now hidden by the off white cloth of her jacket. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"You can call is a Chanukah present instead if you want," she shrugged. It didn't really matter to her.

"Do I know you?" asked her grandfather.

"No." Hermione looked away. "If you'll excuse me, I have places to be."

Hermione turned around and walked out of the gym as quickly as possible without waiting for a goodbye. She resolutely ignored the blond and her grandfather's attempts to gain her attention. She went out through a side entrance which led out into a side alley. After a cursory glance she spun around and apparated away.

* * *

Author's Notes: So, I'm sure most of you have an idea where I'm going with this and were able to identify who I was talking about. The blond man is a character that's been around since the 40s, although he's not the most popular of characters. You'll find out who he is eventually.


	10. April 3rd 2003

"Goodwin," said Auror Dawlish, all but running over to the office staffed by on-call Obliviators. Hermione looked up from the paperwork she'd been filling out, putting it to the side. "Hitwizard Mayberry called for crowd control and containment. Some wannabe Dark Lord decided to try Muggle style dramatics-Auror Potter said it was something called supervillainy, I think. There're already three Hitwizard squads and four Aurors on scene. The idiot decided to take over the Market in Cardiff and there are Muggles everywhere." The Market, as it was called, was a collection of two dozen magical shops-Wizarding and otherwise-disguised as Muggle shops in Cardiff.

"Got it. Everybody suit up and meet at the apparition point in five," ordered John.

Hermione buttoned up her green robe and pulled on a dragon hide vest and gloves. It wasn't much so far as armor went, however it had been found to be generally effective and practical in a wide range of situations, allowing for ease of movement.

Once she met up with her team, John turned to Hermione. "Granger, you're Muggle-Born, right? What's super-whatever-Potter-said?"

"Supervillainy. Think Dark Lord Kieran except with Muggles instead of innocent witches and wizards," she explained, careful to stick to terms her Pureblood coworkers would understand. "They're pretty common among Muggles. We'll need to watch out for any capes-uhm, technically, they're called superheroes. They're normally Muggle, magical, and mostly human-sort of-people with non-magical powers called metahumans who act as independent knights and protect the public out of a generally genuine sense of duty and chivalry. The capes won't take kindly to us altering memories if they notice us doing so and may try to attack us. But there aren't all that many working out of the U.K., so we shouldn't have any issues so long as we deal with this quickly."

"Understood."

It was complete and utter anarchy when they arrived. There were makeshift battle lines drawn, although neither the so-called supervillain nor his trio of henchmen much seemed to care. Thankfully, the fighting had been confined to the main intersection where the various magical shops met.

At Goodwin's motion, Hermione began herding people who'd gathered on the southern facing street and setting up barriers, confounding any who looked to be wandering away so that they would think it had been a fight involving a supervillain with metahuman like powers and police officers and members of the army with laser rifles rather than wands. It was the cover story Goodwin had worked out before they left the Ministry. Thankfully, the standard glamour on her Obliviator robes make it look like she was an ordinary police officer.

All Obliviators were required to go through non-magical police training in addition to an intensive three years of training in the Mind Arts-Hermione had completed that training in eight months. Like Aurors, so far as the Muggles were concerned, Obliviators were simply police officers while Hitwizards were thought to be members of the army. This training was necessary as Obliviators were trusted not only with enforcing the Statute of Secrecy, but also with interrogating prisoners and thoroughly vetting each and every person who worked directly or in some cases indirectly for the royal family. They needed to be trusted to be able to take care of themselves in combat situations.

Hermione glanced around, making sure she had everybody moved to relative safety. With a growl of annoyance, Hermione noted a small boy, perhaps five or six years of age was hiding behind a mailbox.

"Oh hell," sighed Hermione.

The boy was far too close to the fighting for Hermione to safe; however she had little choice in the matter. Carefully Hermione drew the shadows about her. It was the only chance she really had to save the boy without drawing too much attention to them. Typical spells such as a disillusionment charm were simply too noticeable, both to the Muggle spectators and the combatants.

She slipped from shadow to shadow with care. About two meters from the child, Hermione noticed a spell racing toward the child. Hermione had no idea what the spell was for sure, however the purple tint meant nothing good. Hermione dove, rolling on the ground and pulling the child underneath her a moment before the spell hit.

* * *

"Hermione, you alright?" came the voice of one of her closest friends. Ron and she had attempted to make a go of it after the Battle of Hogwarts however it had quickly become apparent that they just weren't compatible, and they'd broken it off with little fuss.

"Yes, just got the breath knocked out of me," said Hermione, opening her eyes.

"Take the kid back to the safe zone, I'll cover you," said Ron.

Hermione nodded. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Come on, when have I ever done something stupid?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"Oh shut up."

With a laugh, Hermione checked on the child and got back to work. Still, she couldn't help but think that maybe she was in too dangerous a line of work. Unlike when she'd first taken the job, she now trusted most Obliviators to do their jobs well. Perhaps it was time to retire. The only question was what to do with herself now.


	11. July 2nd 1980

With great effort the baby stood, using the coffee table to balance herself. Cynthia Granger looked up from her book just in time to see little Hermione take two steps forward. And then she fell, landing upon her bottom. With a sigh Cynthia put down her copy of 'Pride and Prejudice' as she prepared to comfort the girl.

Hermione burst into tears, her hair changing from brown to an angry red. Cynthia stood, only to stop short as she noticed something unusual. The shadows about Hermione twisted and turned, growing larger and darker the longer she cried. They took semi-monstrous shapes which to Cynthia looked more like screaming faces and growling animals than anything else.

It was all she could do not to throw up. That wasn't accidental magic.

Cynthia scooped Hermione up and cuddled her to her chest, careful to avoid the girl's sharp little claws.

"Shh, shh, it's alright," said Cynthia, sitting back down in her chair.

To her relief, as Hermione calmed, the shadows calmed, until finally they returned to normal. Cynthia honestly had no idea what she would have done, otherwise.

She'd heard the stories, of course. Her father may have been cast out of the House of Black for the "crime" of being born a squib, however he'd been sure to pass on the family history and lore to both of his children. Still, Cynthia could not help but pray that the stories had been just that; stories.

It was said that the House of Black had been founded, some seventeen hundred years prior, by Mab the Black-in her honor, their family had always used a surname which was some variant of the word black. Despite what the non-magical population thought, Mab was not one of the mercurial fae, as she had been portrayed in 'Romeo and Juliet.' In actuality, she was the result of a tryst between a witch and a Grim. From her non-human father, Mab had inherited quite a bit; claws sharp enough, strong enough to cut through bronze, fangs, enhanced senses, the ability to change her soft tissue and pigmentation to suit her needs-she was the first metamorphmagus-and most damning of all, the ability to control shadows, a connection to the Shadowlands. If Mab had been born eight or nine centuries later, her contemporaries would have put her down like the mad dog she was.

All of Mab's descendents inherited some of her power. That usually wasn't much of a problem. It was simple enough to bind the powers of a witch who married outside of the family and ensure she did not pass down these abilities to her children. Squibs were usually dealt with "appropriately," although Cynthia still had no idea why her father had been permitted to leave the family alive and whole, on the condition that he never again use the name; Black. The problem was that occasionally members of the family inherited Mab's control of and connection to shadows.

It started with the voices, Marius had said. Those connected to the shadows heard voices nobody else could hear. Every time the child used their connection to the shadows, the voices grew stronger. And then they figured out how to become a shadow. The shadows twisted and corrupted their users until almost nothing of the person they had once been remained. The Blacks, as a whole were feral, dangerous people at the best of times. Under the influence of the shadows, they became true monsters. Eventually, each and every one of them had to be killed.

Except… what about Mathilde or Richard? No. Cynthia shook her head. While Marius had told her tale, he's also made it clear Mathilde was more myth than anything else. There was no way she would have been able to control the shadows, instead of having them control her. Mathilde did not wander the world with a pack of Grims. As for Richard, he had died nearly two hundred years prior, killed by a Potter at the eve of the last battle between the Ministry and the Dark Lord Kieran's forces. And considering which side he had been on, it was obvious the shadows had corrupted him already.

There was only one choice. She would not loose her baby. She would not allow the shadows to steal her daughter from her.

* * *

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" Andromeda asked softly. "This is dangerous."

"I know." Cynthia nodded. "Better she inherits nothing from Mab than to loose her to the shadows." Andromeda had made it clear that sealing the abilities of a child this young could be deadly. Still, at least this way there was a good chance Hermione would survive. If she did nothing, Cynthia knew her daughter would eventually die-probably by another's wand, or perhaps by a gun. She hated to think what somebody corrupted by shadows could do in this modern world. "She'll still be a witch."

"If you're sure."

With careful strokes, Andromeda Tonks nee Black began to paint a rune array upon the stone platform. The platform was at the center of a circle of stones hidden by heavy wards in a small field near Manchester. It was one of the few unbroken circles of stone which the druids had managed to hide from Roman wizards.

It had taken a couple weeks to find a disowned member of the House of Black who had been able and willing to bind Hermione's powers without attracting unwanted attention. Andromeda had been a little surprised by the request; however she'd been more than willing to help once she had confirmed Hermione's connection to the shadows.

Hermione yawned, then began to babble at Cynthia and Andromeda. She was too young to speak just yet, although her noises were beginning to resemble actual words more and more each day.

Cynthia carefully stripped Hermione and held her out so that Andromeda could paint the appropriate runes upon her skin and then she made several marks upon her own face. Once painted, Hermione was put in the center of the rune array.

"Stand back," said Andromeda.

With that, Andromeda began to chant, her arms held out, palms up, as if beseeching the sky for help. The air crackled with power and the runes began to glow as the shadows of the trees around them curled inwards in a circle, leaving on the stone circle in the sunlight. Cynthia shivered, curling in on herself as the chanting reached its peak.

There was a flash of light as the various runes lit up as brightly as searchlights and then faded once more. The tide of magic broke, fading into nothing as the shadows retreated. The moment Andromeda stopped chanting, she fell to the ground, unconscious.

"No," whispered Cynthia as Hermione came back into sight. "Please, no."

Hermione lay upon the platform, completely still. Unwilling to believe her eyes, Cynthia checked for a pulse. Unable to find one, she lay her head gently upon Hermione's chest. There was no sound of a heart beat, no breath.

Cynthia gathered her daughter's body into her arms and fell to her knees. She should have taken the chance. She should never have asked Andromeda to seal Hermione's powers. Surely she could have used Mathilde as an example of strength of will.

With great, hiccupping sobs Cynthia began to cry, rocking back and forth slowly. Her baby was dead. She'd killed her daughter.

She wasn't quite sure how long she sat there, however eventually something caught her notice. Cynthia looked down, wondering what had touched her face. The blood drained from her face as she swayed faintly from side to side. Cynthia felt as though she might faint.

Hermione was looking at her, one of her small hands touching Cynthia's face. Her daughter was alive.

How was this possible? Hermione was dead. Cynthia had had to attend medical school to become an oral surgeon. She knew Hermione had been dead. A trill of fear flowed through her as she thought back to her brief affair with the man she knew only as Jake.

"Cynthia, you're crying," Andromeda said softly.

"I'm just… so happy," said Cynthia.

Nobody could ever know what had happened. She could only imagine what the Ministry-let alone the non-magical government-would do if they found out.


	12. March 21st 2004

With a yawn, Hermione slowly but surely began to make her way through the dungeons. The patrol routes tended to alternate irregularly to ensure that the children didn't catch on to the schedule and work around the teachers. Headmistress McGonagall had assigned Hermione to start her patrol in the dungeons and work her way up to the towers that particular evening. As the newest professor, she naturally received the most despised assignments, in this case the ten p.m. to four a.m. patrol.

Alright, perhaps becoming the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts hadn't been the safest move. Still, when Neville-he'd apprenticed himself to Professor Sprout the year before-had heard that Hermione was in search of work, he had asked her to apply for the position. Even though Voldemort was long dead, the much speculated curse-if indeed it did exist-was still in effect. Headmistress McGonagall had not been able to keep a Defense professor for more than year since the Battle of Hogwarts. Since most Defense professors left for reasons other than their death, Hermione had agreed. The worst that could happen would be that she died and she was only on her eighth life-at most. It wasn't like living a civilian life had done anything to protect her. She was just as likely to die in her everyday life as she was as Defense professor.

'_This way,'_ whispered the shadows.

With a sigh, Hermione followed the voice. Once, she'd only been able to hear them when in life threatening danger. Now… now they could speak to her whenever they wished. Thankfully, they generally left her alone unless she asked for aid.

The shadows led her out of the castle and across the grounds to the Forbidden Forest. Hermione caught a flash of movement and managed to locate the backs of several figures in dark robes in the distance before they disappeared. Growling softly, she searched along the edges until she found the path they seemed to have used.

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face when she reached the end of the path. Why had she not known of the circle of ritual stones in the middle of the Forbidden Forest? At least now she knew why the castle had been built where it had. Probably for easy access to the circle.

What on earth were six figures in dark robes and one tied up First year doing there? Hermione resisted the urge to curse. It was the Spring Equinox and that First Year was probably a human sacrifice-an actual human sacrifice and not just a symbolic one. Those idiots were trying to summon something. Probably an eldritch abomination, judging by the chanting.

It looked like the curse was going to get her after all. At least Hermione knew she wouldn't stay dead. Well, she was relatively sure she wouldn't stay dead. For all she knew, what she was about to do would break the curse entirely.

At her mental suggestion, the shadows took the form of monsters and began to taunt those involved in the ritual. Thankfully, it worked as she'd intended and startled them out of their chanting. One of them fell, utterly destroying the runes he had landed upon and breaking the circle and stopping the ritual. Unfortunately the eldritch abomination-whoever or whatever it was, Hermione simply didn't know enough to put a name to it-was still half manifested upon the mortal realm.

"To the East I call upon thee," said Hermione, gathering her magic. The four elements were each associated with one of the cardinal points and one of the four winds-among the Wizarding at least-making it easier for her to call upon the winds and elements quickly and informally. "To the South, I call upon thee. To the West, I call upon thee. To the North, I call upon thee. I beseech thee to hear my plea and find my sacrifice worthy. I give thee my life, that this creature may return to the realm from whence is came."

Hermione pulled out the knife strapped to her right wrist under her robes and positioned it carefully over her heart. Before she had a chance to second guess herself, she slipped the knife between her ribs and into her heart.

* * *

Cynthia had been so naïve to think the shadows would ever give her up, to think that binding her powers would ever work for long. She was the shadow and the shadow was her. They could never be separated.

The figure watch impassively as the shadows descended upon the would be summoners and tore them to pieces. One of the shadows made a move toward the little First Year who would have been their sacrifice.

'_No, not her. Leave her be.'_

The shadow moved back, abandoning its former prey.

"Professor Granger?" whispered the child.

She was the shadow, she was not Hermione Granger.

No. No.

She was Hermione Granger. She was Hermione Granger and while she was connected to the shadow, it was not her and she sure as hell wasn't it.

Hermione blinked, stumbling slightly as she realized just what she had almost done. Carefully, she erected her occlumency shields, separating her mind from the shadows. It took some time, however Hermione was patient enough to do it correctly. By the time she was done, there was only the normal connection to the shadows that her mind had always possessed left. This connection was part of what had been sealed when she was a child and each time she died, it had opened just the tiniest bit.

Nine deaths. It had taken nine deaths for the bindings to fade, for the connection to reopen. Hermione wasn't quite sure how she knew it had taken nine deaths, however she knew it had been nine. The only question was; what death was she missing?

Hermione had been so sure she'd been on her eighth life at the most. She and her mother must have missed one. Hermione shrugged it off as unimportant. She would figure it out later.

"Are you injured, Miss Jones?" asked Hermione, slowly moving toward the child.

"N-no."

"Alright. Let's get you untied and back up to school. I'm sure Headmistress McGonagall will have questions for you."

"What happened to them?"

"You don't want to know. Trust me, there are some things in this world better left alone." She had no desire to explain her connection to the shadows. "Those people who did this, they brought what happened upon themselves."


	13. Epilogue: December 21st 2010

Hermione dressed carefully that morning. Instead of her normal robes she picked out an ankle length wool circle skirt dyed so that it faded from white at the waistband to golden yellow at the bottom with an ankle length cotton slip for warmth and a white sweater over a matching golden yellow long sleeved shirt and an undershirt. She checked her loose bun to make sure it was secure and pinned a golden yellow snood over it, as the method of travel she intended to use had made her hair fall out of its style on more than one occasion. She slipped her feet into comfortable, worn in boots, grabbed her purse and waist length ocean blue knit cape. She tied a knit ocean blue bonnet over her hair and draped a matching scarf about her neck before putting on mittens. Hermione had checked and as while it was cold, it wasn't snowing where she was going she'd decided to forgo a coat-although there was one she kept in a magically expanded inner pocket in her purse along with basic survival supplies. A couple changes of clothing and Christmas gifts were already packed away in the purse, leaving her hands free.

The students would be leaving after breakfast for winter holidays and as soon as the train reached London that evening, Hermione would be on her way. It had taken a long time-far too long, part of her could not help but whisper-but Hermione had finally made a decision. She could only hope that her father would eventually forgive her for what she was about to do.

"Going to visit family?" she asked Neville, joining him in the Entrance Hall. The former Auror was currently apprenticed to Professor Sprout and would likely take her position once the woman retired.

"I am. Hannah's introducing me to her family."

"Oh. I hadn't realized you two were so serious."

He nodded. "I know we've only been dating for a couple months, but I love her. So… what are you doing for the holidays?"

"I'm heading to Bludhaven to visit my parents," she said. "Fifi is dating a necromancer and I want to make sure he's not going to use her as a human sacrifice or something."

Neville snorted. "I take it you're not the only member of your family that enjoys walking on the wild side."

"Nev, we live on the wild side." Hermione shrugged. "As a nice, law abiding citizen, I'm the black sheep of the family."

"Law abiding?"

"Oh hush. You know what I mean."

"I thought your parents are professional torturers."

"They're dentists, not professional torturers, and you know it," laughed Hermione. One of their classmates back in first year had thought that dentists were Muggle torturers and it had stuck. "Although please don't say anything about being paid to torture people in front of my cousins. It might give them ideas."

"Still trying to make it as thugs?"

"Nah. They read some comic book and decided that creating their own Thieves' Guild would be-and I quote-'awesome.'" (1)

"Your family is insane."

"You just figured that out now? So, how's your grandmother doing?"

"Gran's good. Still pressuring me about great grandchildren…"

They spoke quietly until the students were accounted for and safely loaded onto the train. Hermione said her goodbyes and got onto the train, settling in a nearly empty compartment. After the war, Headmistress McGonagall had declared that at least one professor rode the Hogwarts Express whenever it was transporting students for safety purposes. Hermione had volunteered to take both trips for the Christmas Holidays as she was leaving the school anyway.

She tucked away her winter wear and pulled out a ball of yarn and a set of double pointed knitting needles. Hermione had spent the better part of the past year knitting gifts for her various relatives-it gave her hands something to do in staff meetings and had somehow gotten her the position of head of the Hogwarts Sewing Circle her first year as a professor-and was currently working on a sock, to match the other sock she'd already made. By the time they reached Kings Cross, she'd been talking into giving an impromptu knitting lesson to several girls and finished the sock.

Hermione put her bonnet, cape, scarf, and mittens, all in matching ocean blue back on. She waited patiently until all the students had either left or been picked up before walking into the non-magical area of King's Cross. It didn't take her long to find a shady, out of the way area. She allowed her eyes and incisors to return to normal. She would not hide who she was, not now. After making sure that there were no Muggles nearby, she opened her connection to the shadows.

She allowed herself to become one with the shadows and then sped off, travelling from shadow to shadow at incredible speed. Travelling through shadows used less energy and was far easier and more comfortable to Hermione than either apparition or portkeys or floo. In a blink of the eye she was in Ireland, and then in the ocean. The waves themselves made shadows naturally and Hermione was able to navigate the Atlantic Ocean in a matter of minutes, reaching dry land quickly. Hermione paused long enough to find a sign which said what town she was in before heading south.

Hermione left the shadows long enough to leave the clothing, presents, and other miscellanea in her room in Bludhaven and put her purse back on before leaving. Everybody was either at work or school and she had no reason to stay. And if she stayed, Hermione knew she would loose her courage. Hermione slipped back into the shadows and headed north, following the coastline so that she did not become lost. Upon reaching Manhattan she left the shadows. The person she was searching for was in a bar a couple blocks away.

Hermione honestly had no idea how to feel about Warrior's. It was full of superhero memorabilia, particularly those related to the Green Lanterns. Given her history, she was leery of capes and supervillains at the best of times. At the worst… there was a reason she'd left the Obliviators. Although at least it was a cape themed bar. She would have been sorely tempted to curse everybody in sight had it been supervillain themed, assuming she had even been able to talk herself into entering. (2)

Inside were a number of obviously metahuman and nonhuman patrons. Her scarlet eyes, fangs, and claws painted a delicate shade of champagne fit right in. Some, she faintly recognized from various non-magical tabloids and newspapers, although Hermione was unfamiliar enough with the various capes that she could not actually put names to faces. There were no supervillains within, she was sure. Otherwise there would probably have been a brawl. She glanced about finding the person she was looking for rather easily. He was seated with a faintly familiar blond man in an out of the way booth. Was the blond a cape or some sort? She supposed it would make sense. Hermione waved off the woman who greeted her.

"No thanks, I see the person I'm here to meet," said Hermione.

She slipped between the tables until she reached the appropriate booth. Hermione bit her lip nervously. "Good afternoon."

"Miss… you know, I never did get your name," said her grandfather, the older of the two men.

His dark hair peppered with gray and wrinkled face were much the same as they had been the last time they'd met. It had been over a decade and he looked the same now as he did then. That wasn't normal, but Hermione supposed it didn't matter. Nobody in this family really qualified as normal. She was a little surprised that he remembered her, given that she'd said perhaps two sentences to him.

"Hermione Granger," she said. Hermione took a deep breath. "I should have told you this the first time we met, however my courage failed me. I believe you've been searching for Jake Grant. I know where he is and what name he's using now."

Both the blond man and her grandfather gaped at her. Finally, her grandfather cleared his throat, "Sit down kid. You hungry?"

"I wouldn't mind a drink," she offered.

Hermione hadn't decided yet whether she was willing to eat with them or not. She'd met far too many of her mother's relatives to be willing to trust a family member for a meal. Then again, he didn't seem so bad, for a cape at least.

The blond stood, allowing Hermione to take the inside of the booth. Presumably so that she couldn't run away-although perhaps that was just her paranoia speaking. She took off her outerwear and purse tucking them in beside her. The man slid back into the seat, moving his drink out of her way.

"I'm Sandy Hawkins," said the blond. (3)

"Nice to meet you again, Mr. Hawkins."

"Please, call me Sandy.

"Then call me Hermione."

"How-how do you know Jake?" said Ted Grant, barely keeping hold of his patience. Hermione couldn't begrudge him his impatience and ill temper. She knew that her grandfather had been searching for her father desperately ever since he had been kidnapped nearly sixty years prior.

"In the past my mother had been known to make forgeries to supplement her income-particularly driver's licenses, birth certificates, marriage certificates, passports, and the like," explained Hermione. "She made his papers about thirty two years ago. I was born nine and a half months later."

"Now look here-"

"This isn't a scam," interrupted Hermione. "I have no issue with submitting to a DNA test if you want me to. My father and I have very little to do with each other even during the best of times, however he has never denied that I am his child." She looked down. "I doubt he'll ever forgive me for speaking to you, however you deserve to have the chance to speak to him before he dies for the final time."

"The final time?" said Sandy.

"Do you trust him?"

"With my life," said Ted.

"Good enough, I suppose." Hermione waited until the passing waitress had taken her order and left to answer Sandy's question. "He's died eight times already. His next death is his last."

Hermione pushed forward a piece of paper. "This is his current name and address, his safe houses and alternate aliases. Well, the ones I know, at least. He… he won't be happy to see you."

"Why?" said Ted, taking the piece of paper.

"My father only spoke about you to me once. He… well, he blames you for not rescuing him." Hermione shook his head. "He's angry… very angry with you."

* * *

(1) This is a reference to the Thieves Guild in Marvel Comics. How characters in the DC universe found out about it, I don't know.

(2) Warrior's was a bar in New York City somewhere run by Guy Gardner. Of course, this was back in the 90s, however I personally preferred Guy as Warrior to Guy as a Green Lantern as he is now (I think. I really need to catch up on what's going on).

(3) Sanderson "Sandy" Hawkins was originally Sandy the Golden Boy and the sidekick of the Sandman back in the 1940s and both were members of the original JSA. He spent a couple decades in suspended animation after becoming a sand monster only to be freed during an incident in the 1970s and then became human again-sort of. Anyway, currently, he supposedly was normal and human again for about five years before joining the newly reformed JSA after the death of the original Sandman. However, I feel something closer to a decade would have made more sense. In case you're wondering, the first time he and Hermione met was only a couple months after he got out of suspended animation.


End file.
